


Go For The Gold (And A Few Other Things)

by SpiritsFlame



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, Alternate Universe, Diving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles came to the Olympics with one goal- get a gold medal. By Opening Ceremonies, he has two goals. Win a gold medal, and sleep with Derek Hale. Unfortunately for him, those two goals are equally difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Mandi for this fic, because when I went to her and said "I don't have the time or energy to write an Olympic AU." And she replied, "Yeah, but what if Stiles was a diver?"
> 
> \--
> 
> I’m really sorry to all actual Olympic Athletes. This fic does not reflect their actions or their beliefs at all.

There are days, many of them, that Stiles still can’t believe he’s at the Olympics. He’s already been at the Olympic Village for two weeks and some nights he’s afraid to go to sleep, in case he wakes up back in Beacon Hills, California.   
  
“I can’t believe they didn’t have David Tennant carry in the torch,” he mutters to Scott. Scott is his roommate and newly minted best friend.  
  
“What?” Scott asks. OK, so he’s not very good at it. But hey, it’s the Olympics, Stiles will cut him some slack. They’re all stressed.  
  
“You know, like Doctor Who?” Stiles prompts.  
  
Scott stares at him blankly. “I don’t know. You asked me.”  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Nevermind, dude. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Scott apparently takes his words to heart and goes back to staring off into the middle distance. And by middle distance, Stiles means the pretty archer, Allison Argent.   
  
“Doesn’t she look great?” Scott sighs.   
  
Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, she looks awesome. Can you tell what country they’re up to yet?”   
  
“They’re on Qatar,” Lydia Martin says from his left. Stiles jerks and turns to stare at her. She doesn’t look up from her phone.  
  
“Are you watching the Parade of Nations on your phone?” Stiles demands.  
  
“Obviously,” Lydia replies shortly. Stiles leans deep into her space trying to get a glimpse of her tiny screen. She moves out of range.  
  
“Lydia, did I ever tell you that you are the cutest thing in a Ralph Lauren hat that I have ever seen?” Stiles asks her.  
  
“Did I ever tell you, no way Stilinski, not if you win gold at the next four Games?” she replies, finally looking up from her screen.  
  
Stiles droops. “It might have come up,” he admits.   
  
She pats his cheek condescendingly. “There you go.” She moves off, pushing further into the crowd.  
  
“You’ll regret that win I do actually win!” he calls after her, but she doesn’t turn around. “Can you believe her?” he asks Scott.  
  
“What?” Scott asks. Stiles shakes his head. “Hey,” Scott asks, “should I ask for her number?”  
  
Stiles thinks it over. “Well, the other times you’ve tried to approach her, her father-slash-coach tried to have you banned from the ceremonies.”  
  
“So, now’s a good time because he’s not here?” Scott asks.  
  
“That’s not even sort of what I said.”   
  
It’s no use. Scott’s gone.   
  
Stiles surveys the crowd around him, looking for some of the other athletes he knows. Well, the ones he knows and hasn’t alienated. He’s pretty sure that if he approaches Erica again, she’ll actually punch him, instead of just bunting a volleyball in his general direction.   
  
The only bright side to this whole thing is that Jackson isn’t here. Apparently he’d needed his beauty sleep before the swim tomorrow. Well, okay, Stiles gets that. But he reserves the right to mock him anyway.  
  
He looks back to where he last saw Allison and sees that Scott has actually managed to do pretty well for himself. She’s laughing, at least, and it doesn’t even appear to be at Scott’s expense.   
  
Well, maybe Stiles should ask him for advice. It’s not like he’s having any luck of his own. He catches the eye of one of the athletes from Uruguay, since he’s at the back of the USA parade. They wave. He waves back. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe he should just stick to people who can’t understand him when he opens his mouth.  
  
Except that, in the last week, he’s found he doesn’t want an easy lay. He wants a more difficult one. A very specific one.   
  
Stiles is just considering whether he should actually seek him out when the crowd starts to move.   
  
“Seriously?” he says to the guy next to him. “We’re moving already?”  
  
The guy shrugs and goes back to doing whatever on his phone. Stiles is pretty sure he’s on Twitter. Stiles is passing serious judgement. Who goes into the Olympic Stadium on their phone? Stiles’ dad would have killed him for sure. Of course, Stiles’ dad has a lot of strong feeling about people who texted in any situation other than stationary and preferably seated.  
  
Stiles feels like his stomach is about to explode when they go out into the stadium. The crowd is roaring, there are lights flashing in his face and he can’t make out anything. It’s probably one of the best moments of his life.  
  
When he’s adjusted to the fact that he’s  in the Olympic Stadium , he looks around to see how the other athletes are doing and catches sight of Derek Hale through the crowd.  
  
The racer looks cool as a cucumber, apparently unconcerned about the fact that there are several thousand people currently cheering for them.  
  
Stiles practically barrels over a pretty blonde gymnast and a pair of fencers to get to him.  
  
“Hey, sourwolf, you could try smiling,” he says when he reaches Derek’s side. He slings a friendly arm over Derek’s shoulder. He’s seen some of the other athletes doing it.  
  
Derek looks at him, face impassive. His gaze moves from Stiles’ arm to his face.   
  
“I’m taking my arm off!” Stiles says defensively, removing his arm. “Come on, just one smile. For me?”  
  
Derek just bares his teeth at him.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll take it. But would it kill you to show a little team spirit?”  
  
Derek shrugs. “Probably.”  
  
Stils grins and nudges Derek in the ribs. “See, I knew you could be funny. Come on, wave for your family.”  
  
Derek sighs gustily, like Stiles’ presence is a great burden. He does, however, turn and flash the nearest camera a smile and a wave. Stiles waves with him, hoping this shot gets to whichever tv his dad is watching this on.  
  
“There you go!” Stiles says delightedly, bouncing on his toes. “Was that so hard?”  
  
Derek just shrugs. “Why do you even care?”  
  
“What, a guy can’t be friendly at the Olympics?”  
  
“I already told you, I don’t want any distractions,” Derek says, moving over to put distance between them.  
  
Stiles takes a step to close the distance. “And I know I’m very distracting, but you could at least be nice to me. I’m not asking for your first born here. Just a drink sometime.”  
  
“I said no,” Derek says shortly, and does some sort of fast move that puts him out of Stiles’ reach. Well, that’s probably why Derek is in running and Stiles just jumps off of things.  
  
\--  
  
Stiles slams a tray down across from Danny. “I need to know the truth, Danny  Mahealani. I am or am I not attractive to gay guys?”  
  
Danny looks up at him impassively. “That question offends me on so many levels.”  
  
“Liar,” Stiles replies, sliding into the seat. “Nothing offends you.”  
  
Danny tilts his head, conceding the point. “And by gay guys, I can assume you mean?”  
  
“Your stupidly attractive teammate, Derek Hale? Yes, yes you can.”  
  
“You’re asking me to rat on a teammate?” Danny asks skeptically.   
  
“Think of it as more of a trade. I have, in my possession, the number of the Polish diver you were eyeing the other day. And I heard he and and his synchronising partner teamed up in other areas as well.” He stares Danny down meaningfully.  
  
Danny glares at him. “You’re a terrible person.”  
  
“It keeps me up at night,” Stiles replies. “So, do you think that we can help each  
other?”  
  
Danny sighs. “I can tell you that you don’t even have a chance before our final event. Derek doesn’t trust people.”  
  
“What, he’s afraid I’ll take his relay secrets and apply them to my triple somersault?” Stiles asks incredulously.  
  
Danny shrugs. “Don’t ask me, man. But he never does anything until he’s done with the events.”  
  
Stiles gapes at him. “But, but you’re the 400m relay team!” Danny raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s one of the last events on the schedule!”  
  
Danny shrugs. “Then move on, because nothing’s happening before then.”  
  
Stiles drops his head into his hands. “I hate my life.”  
  
\--  
  
The really terrible part is that he actually likes Derek Hale. He fucking wishes he could move on. That Polish diving team wasn’t in the least bit exclusive about who they took in.   
  
And it’s not like he’s Scott or anything, he’s not pining over Derek with his last breath, but he’s pretty sure that after two solid weeks of flirting with the guy, it would be kind of a dick move to just hook up with someone else. There’s some kind of implied commitment. That’s a thing, he’s pretty sure.  
  
In other news, Scott was reaching new levels of sad. He’d made friends with the two Italians in the room over Allison’s--Stiles would have paid some serious cash to see that conversation--and has been sneaking onto the balcony above hers and dropping notes, or pieces of candy that her coach-father won’t allow her to have.  
  
It’s kind of sweet, in a sad kind of way.  
  
Stiles takes comfort in the fact that if he’s going to be one of the only athletes not getting laid in Olympic Village, at least he’s not the only one.  
  
\--  
  
Jackson makes it to the finals, the smug bastard. Stiles is relieved, but only because he’s worried that Jackson would kill anyone who stood in his way to the semi-finals. Stiles hopes, for the sake of the trip back, that he at least gets bronze. Danny and Lydia are the only ones who tolerate his moods.   
  
Stiles doesn’t bother, he has a broody person of his own to worry about.  
  
The good news is that Allison made it through the first round of archery elimination. She even ranked fifth in the individual ranking rounds. Scott’s acting so proud as it’s if he fired the arrow himself.   
  
Stiles ends up having to leave the room, just to escape his talking about the perfect way she drew the bow back. He’s seen Lord of the Rings, and Legolas made better shots while riding horseback.  
  
He’s surprised to find Derek in the cafeteria. It’s usually the kind of place Derek would avoid, all chaos and noise. The Russian volleyball team is busy feeding each other cherries and whipped cream. Stiles has to actively tear his gaze away from that tempting sight.  
  
“So, I was thinking,” Stiles says, sliding in beside one of Derek’s other teammates, Boyd something-or-other. Stiles hadn’t really been paying attention. “The new Batman movie is out here now. You should go with me.”  
  
“I told you-”  
  
“I know, no distractions. It’s just a movie! Two hours, tops. I’ll even let you pay for your own ticket and everything.”  
  
“How generous of you,” Derek says dryly. Stiles tries to hide a smile and doesn’t quite manage. He doesn’t get why the media says Derek is humorless. Of course, not everyone can interview as well as Stiles can.   
  
“I’m a gentleman that way,” Stiles agree. Boyd snorts. “Hey, your teammates could come too. That way it’s a team thing. No bad intentions.”  
  
Derek gives Stiles a dirty look. “I don’t think-”  
  
“I’ve been wanting to see the new Batman movie,” Boyd says thoughtfully. “And I think Isaac’s been wanting an excuse to hang out with Erica.”  
  
“The volleyball girl?” Stiles asks, interested. Apparently, he really is the only one not hooking up.   
  
“That’s the one.”  
  
“She’s scary,” Stiles says, shuddering. Boyd raises an eyebrow and jerks his head at Derek. Stiles can practically hear him saying ‘do you see who you’re chasing after?’. Stiles just shrugs in response, because what can he say. He likes a challenge.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Derek says, but he’s wavering. Stiles can tell.  
  
“Come on,” he wheedles. “Isn’t Batman, like, your spirit animal or something? Tall, dark and brooding?”  
  
Derek glares at him. “Is this you trying to be flattering?”  
  
Stiles gives him his most winning smile. “Is it working?”  
  
Derek shoves him off the bench. “No.”  
  
Stiles bounces back up with a smile. “Let’s say eight tomorrow.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Stiles exchanges smiles with Boyd and leaves before he can blow it for himself.  
  
\--  
  
When Stiles goes by Derek’s room the next day, because he is a gentleman even when the other person refuses to admit it’s a date, he’s surprised to see a blonde woman leaning against the doorframe.   
  
“Come on, Derek, we both know you want it,” she’s saying, her voice a low purr. Stiles feels his hands clench into fists just at the sound of it.  
  
He can’t hear what Derek says in response, but she gives a throaty laugh. “After all the fun we had last time?”  
  
She shifts enough that Stiles can see her profile. It’s the other gymnast who made it through qualifying with Lydia. C-something. He wasn’t really paying attention. Lydia had been more impressive anyway.  
  
He moves closer because he’s not about to be scared away by some gymnast bitch.   
  
“-play with someone your own age?” Derek is saying when Stiles gets close enough to hear him. He still can’t see him though, which means that Derek is pretty far into his room.  
  
Gymnast-bitch pouts. “Oh, but you know how I like them young. What’s your teammates name? Isaac something?”  
  
Stiles hears an honest to god growl and if it were directed at him, he would be getting out of dodge. The blonde just smirks though.   
  
“Touched a nerve, did I?”  
  
Stiles finally reaches Derek’s door and steps around the blonde. “Knock, knock,” he says playfully, rapping on the open door frame, totally ignoring the gymnast. “Ready to go, big guy?”  
  
“Oh, who’s this?” the blonde asks.   
  
“Not interested,” Stiles says coldly. Now that he can see her full on, he recognises her. Kate Argent. It was her fifth time at the Olympics and she’d been going on too-old last time. She's at least ten years older than the next oldest gymnast, and it's starting to show. This close, there’s something mean in her eyes and the set of her mouth. He doesn’t like her.  
  
He turns back to Derek and pretends not see that Derek’s hands are clenched in the bedding. “Come one, movies wait for no man.”  
  
“Aw, does the little runner have a date?” Kate mocks and Stiles grits his teeth.  
  
“Just because you don’t have any friends who’ll hang out with you, doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t.” Well, no one’s ever accused Stiles of temper control.  
  
Kate’s face twists into an ugly sneer. “Oh it-”  
  
“Yeah, you’re real great,” Stiles interrupts. “But Derek and I are leaving. Come on.” He walks off, really hoping that Derek will actually follow him. After a couple of steps, he can’t help himself and he turns back. “Great job today. You really stuck that landing.”  
  
Derek, who had followed him, thank god, snorts. Kate had almost fallen after her dismount off the uneven bars and it was likely what had her down in the twenties, instead of the low teens, in ranking.  
  
“What a bitch,”  Stiles says when they get to the elevator, out of hearing range.   
  
Derek grunts, which Stiles takes as agreement.   
  
“Why was she bugging you anyway?”  
  
Derek shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “We met last in Beijing.”  
  
“Well, you should stay away from her. She looks like she’ll eat you for breakfast,”  
  
Derek twitches weirdly, but he just gives Stiles a flat look. “I saw the way you were talking to Lydia Martin at opening ceremony. She’s no delicate flower either.”  
  
Stiles snorts. “First, I can’t believe you said delicate flower. Secondly, Lydia is a perfect princess. She’s just focused. Thirdly, I think that almost resembled a joke.”  
  
“I joke,” Derek protests.  
  
Stiles pats him on the arm. “Sure you do, big guy.”  
  
The only thing that can be said about leaving Olympic Village is that it is easier to do than to get back in.   
  
They’re caught up in a storm of athletes leaving. There are the gymnasts who are celebrating or commiserating over their rankings, the swimmers who made it or didn’t, and the people, like Stiles and Derek, who don’t have any events for another week and are trying to take advantage of being free in another country.  
  
“So, Boyd texted me and said that he and the others couldn’t make it. I had assumed he told you as well, but you’re not mad or anything, are you?”   
  
“It’s fine,” Derek says.  
  
“Great! This is gonna be great. This is such a good summer for movies, too. It’s a good thing we’re in London. You were in the 2008 Olympics, weren’t you? What was that like?”  
  
“It was the Olympics, it was probably about the same as it will be this year,”  
  
Stiles makes a face. “No, I mean, what was it like being in Beijing? Did anyone speak English?”  
  
“I didn’t leave the Village.”  
  
“I bet you didn’t do much socializing, either,” Stiles says playfully.  
  
Derek’s mouth twists. “I did enough.”  
  
“Having dinner with your teammates every other days doesn’t count. Where is your sense of adventure! You’re in a foreign country, you’re young! There are so many new people to meet and new things to see!”   
  
“I have to concentrate on my event,” Derek says calmly.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said. And I get that, but there’s more to life than that, you know?”  
  
“Not for me,” Derek replies.   
  
“That sounds lonely,” Stiles says softly.   
  
Derek just grunts.  
  
\--  
  
The movie actually turns out to be a lot of fun. Not that Stiles is surprised, because come on, it’s Batman. But it turns out that Derek can loosen up a bit. Apparently you just have to work at it for a solid hour at a time.   
  
Stiles even manages to get him to agree to dinner, albeit a short one. Derek’s self-appointed curfew cut into any serious hang-out time, and Stiles is even more disappointed by that than he’d expected to be.  
  
He even walks Derek back to his room, but that’s more because he doesn’t want to go than anything else.  
  
He does not kiss Derek goodnight. That’s mostly because he doesn’t want to compete with a black eye.  
  
\--  
  
“I think she likes me,” Scott says dreamily to the ceiling.   
  
“I’m so happy for you,” Stiles replies. And he is, really, but he wishes he could have as much success in his own pursuits. Trust him to go after one of the few athletes in Olympic Village who wouldn’t put out. He’d heard rumors about an orgy down in the Russian section.   
  
“Do you want to keep seeing her after the Olympics are over?” Stiles asks. Scott is from Maine, and Stiles is pretty sure that Allison is from Colorado   
  
“Of course!” Scott sounds offended by the question, and Stiles rolls his eyes. It would be just that easy for him.   
  
“Hey, do you know if the gymnast Kate Argent is related to her?”   
  
Scott rolls over so that he’s facing Stiles. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s Allison’s aunt. Why?”  
  
“I ran into her today. She’s not very nice.”  
  
“Well, Allison is great,” Scott replies, like that settles it.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure she is. Do you know anything else about Kate?”  
  
“Not really. She got bronze in Beijing, didn’t she?”   
  
“I think so,” Stiles sighs. He’ll look into it tomorrow. “Goodnight Scott.”  
  
“Night.”  
  
\--  
  
As it turns out, Stiles is the best at research. They should give him a gold medal just for that, because he is just that good.  
  
Except he’s starting to wish that he’d just left Kate Argent behind in the hall, because what he finds kind of sucks. And it makes him want to punch someone  
  
There’s not much out there, because even though athletes tend to be gossipy little bitches, there is an unspoken rule that what happens in Olympic Village, stays in Olympic Village.   
  
And, apparently what happened last time in Beijing was pretty brutal. Derek and his team had been projected at the top of their game for that year, the expected winner from almost every sports analyst who knew what they were talking about.  
  
And then, suddenly, the whole team was off their game, Derek worst of all. Something changed in between arriving at the Olympic Village and the final 100m run. And suddenly the USA hopes of gold from their relay team had gone up in smoke.  
  
All Derek will say about it later is that he allowed himself to be distracted.  
  
All Kate Argent will say during interviews is that she had a lot of fun with an unnamed someone on the relay team.  
  
Stiles really just wants to punch someone in the face.  
  
\--  
  
Stiles waits another day before he goes to visit Derek again. He doesn’t want to chase the guy off by being too pushy.   
  
The door is cracked open a bit when he gets there. He knocks lightly, out of courtesy, then opens it anyway.   
  
“Hey, Derek, I was thinking-” Stiles trails off as he catches sight of Derek, mouth going dry.  
  
It’s not like he hasn’t his share of half naked men, he’s a professional diver, it comes with the territory. But something about watching Derek doing sit-ups is making his breath catch in his throat.  
  
He just stands there, staring like an idiot before Derek catches sight of him.  
  
“Stiles. What are you doing here?” Derek gets to his feet in one smooth, mouth-watering movement.  
  
“I was, um,” Stiles trails off, severely distracted by Derek’s abs. He pulls himself together through sheer force of will. “I was thinking that we could hang out. Maybe.” His gaze is still stuck around Derek’s chest area.  
  
Derek clears his throat and when Stiles drags his eyes up to meet Derek’s, he’s relieved to see that Derek looks amused. There’s something else in his dark gaze, something that makes Stiles flush down to his toes. Stiles licks his lips nervously and Derek tracks the movement.  
  
“Um,” Stiles says, uncertain and thrown off balance.   
  
Derek crosses his arms over his chest, muscles in his bares arms flexing. “I’m kind of busy here, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles swallows. “Yeah, I can see that. Still, maybe you need a break. Too much work is bad for you, right?” He’s pretty sure that’s a thing.  
  
Derek’s mouth twitches. “Hard work never killed anyone.”  
  
“I am fairly certain you’re wrong about that,” Stiles replies. “Heart failures, ulcers, muscle strain are all legitimate medical concerns. Come on, muscles. Break time.”  
  
Derek sighs, but Stiles can see a smile. “Alright. Let me grab a shirt.”  
  
Stiles has to bite his lip to stop a “No need” from slipping out.   
  
\--  
  
Stiles manages to sneak in to watch the gymnastic finals. Partly because he wants to cheer on Lydia, who he’s kind-of-sort-of becomes friends with, despite her best efforts. Part of it is because he wants to see Kate Argent fail horribly.   
  
As expected, Lydia does amazingly. Stiles isn’t an expert in gymnastics, by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows his way around a flip, and she’s impressive. Besides, he’s surrounded by people who do know their shit, and they sound pretty damn impressed.   
  
He feels a determined sense of glee when Kate Argent fumbles one of her flips on the balance beam and almost falls off. Serves her right, the creepy bitch.   
  
In the end, Lydia gets the gold medal and no one is surprised. Second place is a French girl who had been hitting on Stiles pretty aggressively two days ago. He’s starting to wish he took her up on it because there is serious cool points in saying you tapped a silver medal winner. Except that he’s still kind of hung up on a certain relay runner and he’s pretty sure that sleeping with pretty French girls is ‘way to blow it 101’.  
  
The bronze winner is a Russian girl who he’s pretty sure was one of the orgy participants the other day. Oh, the things Stiles is missing out on.  
  
Kate Argent isn’t even in the top five. So, that’s just icing on the cake. Stiles gives her a sarcastic thumbs up when she looks over at him.   
  
Suck it, gymnast bitch.  
  
\--  
  
At the bar that night, everyone wants to buy Lydia a drink, but Stiles forces his way to the front with a cosmopolitan.   
  
“For you,” he says as charmingly as he can. It’s probably about a five. Maybe.  
  
“I’m still not going to sleep with you. Ever.”  
  
Stiles grins, not bothered by the slight. “Think of it as a thank you.”  
  
Lydia raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, but takes the drink. She regards him thoughtfully as she sips. “Is this about Kate Argent?”  
  
“No!” Stiles says, too fast. He laughs nervously. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“Because you were looking at her like you wanted her to fall straight off the beam.”  
  
“She almost did anyway,” Stiles replies happily. “Must be the power of positive thinking.”  
  
“Hm, yes,” Lydia says cooly. “Well, Derek Hale was looking a lot friendlier last time I saw him.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says firmly.  
  
Lydia just gives him a flatly disbelieving look. Stiles leaves before her magic powers can get him to reveal anything else.  
  
\--  
  
The thing about making a lot of friends at the Olympics is the obligation to go and cheer them on. Scott will never forgive him if Stiles doesn’t show up at the elimination race.   
  
It’s not as though Stiles has an issue with cycling or anything, but it’s pretty hard to tell Scott apart from any of the other cyclists. He just yells really loud and tries not to crane too far into other people’s space as he searches for Scott’s number.  
  
Stiles really wishes he’d been able to get Derek to come with him.   
  
“I don’t watch other people’s events,” Derek had said when Stiles had asked him.  
  
Stiles had stared at him. “You’re kidding me. You are at the Olympics. People are paying hundreds of dollars to see this!”  
  
“I don’t want-”  
  
“To be distracted,” Stiles had finished with him. “Right. Well, look me up if you’re free sometime.”  
  
Which, of course, Derek hadn’t. Which is why Stiles is sitting in the stands, alone, yelling for Scott to make it to the finish so hard his throat hurts.  
  
He wonders, briefly, where Allison Argent is, but then he remembers that her father-coach was crazy and probably not letting her go anywhere but her room and the archery range.  
  
Scott lands in seventh place. Which puts him through to the next round and ensures that Stiles actually gets to have a roommate for the next two weeks or so before they have to leave again.  
  
\--  
  
Stiles has always found the water to be relaxing. It’s soothing and quiet, and he’s graceful in the water and in the air like he never is on land.   
  
The water has always made sense. You kick out with your feet or your arms and you move. No balance, no roots or uneven ground to trip him up.   
  
Diving is an extension of that. It’s just gravity, it’s just a constant steady pull that’s always reassuringly there. He just has to use it, instead of letting it use him.  
  
He does a few flips off one of the high boards, just for the joy of it, and on the third pass he doesn’t shoot straight to the surface. He lets himself drift, floating gently. He pushes through the water with even strokes until he feels the wall in front of him and surfaces with a gasp.  
  
He’s about to dive back under when he sees a flash of dark hair, and then he almost chokes on the pool water.  
  
Derek is leaning against one of the far walls, his gaze fixed unerringly and unblinkingly on Stiles. Stiles’ grins broadly, and waves. Just to show off, he does a flip off the wall and kicks his way deeper, swimming towards the edge closest to Derek.  
  
Derek is still watching him when he surfaces again. He doesn’t look like he’s moved at all, his gaze steady. Stiles braces his hands on the edge of the pool and pulls himself up in one smooth move.   
  
Water sluicing off of him, he moves over to the corner where Derek is standing. Considering how far in the shadows he is, it may as well be called lurking.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, trying not to sound too delighted.  
  
Derek’s eyes follow a trickle of water down Stiles’ body for a moment before his eyes raise back up to meet Stiles’. “Your roommate said I might find you here.”  
  
Stiles spreads his arms wide. “Well, here I am.”   
  
Derek is avoiding his eyes weirdly, looking into the middle distance over Stiles’ shoulder. “Yes,” he says, voice weirdly rough, “here you are.”   
  
“What can I do for you?” Stiles asks.  
  
Derek shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have come.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave.  
  
Stiles shakes his head. “No, wait!” He reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm. His fingers, still wet, close around Derek’s leather jacket and Stiles jerks back.  
  
He’s abruptly aware of the fact that he’s barely wearing anything and still soaking wet. He feels ridiculous next to Derek; fully dressed and looking as amazing as he always does. Stiles is probably even dripping on Derek’s shoes.   
  
He takes a quick step back, then another. “I’m sorry. I should-” he fights the urge to cover himself. He’s gotten used to the tiny swimsuits he has to wear for diving, but standing in front of Derek, he feels like he’s a gangly kid again, trying to talk his coach into letting him wear regular trunks.  
  
(His coach had agreed, then laughed his ass off when hitting the water forced the trunks down around his knees the first time he tried a dive)  
  
“Should what?” Derek says, voice lower than usual. Stiles stifles a shiver and yeah, he should really get out of here right now, because the suit he’s wearing is good for diving and nothing else. Like hiding his growing attraction to Derek Hale. So to speak.  
  
Stiles looks up to say something witty and clever that will get him out of this situation, and Derek is way closer than he was a second ago. Stiles brain stutters to a halt.   
  
“Um,” he says. “Should go get changed.” The words come out slowly and there’s enough space between the words to drive a car through. Maybe a small car, but a car nonetheless.  
  
Derek shakes his head like he’s going to say no. Stiles takes a quick step back because the other option is doing something that is very ungentlemanly, and also probably not allowed in a public pool.  
  
“Wait,” Derek says, voice forceful. His hands reach out to grip Stiles’ bare shoulder and Stiles freezes. He feels like a rabbit caught in Derek’s heavy stare because Derek will not look away. Stiles can feel a flush creeping up his neck because the look in Derek’s eyes makes him feel like he’s on fire.  
  
A trail of water drips along his temple and down his neck. Derek’s gaze tracks it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen and Stiles is _dying_ here. Derek watches as it slips down his chest, and honest to god licks his lips and Stiles is going to  _pass out._   
  
“Derek?” Stiles manages to croak out. His voice sounds like it’s been scraped over with sandpaper  
  
Derek’s gaze jerks back up to Stiles’ face and his eyes are blazing hot. Stiles leans in, moving towards him like it’s gravity, pulling Stiles in like it always has.  
  
“I really shouldn’t have come here,” Derek says, pulling back so abruptly that Stiles almost falls over. He leaves the pool at a brisk walk, leaving Stiles behind, cold, confused and painfully aroused.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry guys, it ended up being way longer and more involved than I intended and I had to put it up in three parts. The third part should be up soon. Promise!

“Seriously what is his problem?” Stiles demands angrily, punching into his pillow.   
  
“I still think you’re crazy for even trying,” Scott replies unhelpfully. “He’s kind of scary, you know?”  
  
Stiles groans into his pillow. “This would be so much easier if that were true! But I actually kind of like him and shit which makes things so much harder!”  
  
“Have you tried asking him what’s going on?”  
  
Stiles shakes his head, but he doubts Scott can see him.  
  
“He’s been avoiding me.”  
  
“That sounds like kind of a jerk move,” Scott says  
  
“Tell me about it,” Stiles mutters grumpily.  
  
“Good luck, man.” Scott rolls over in the universal symbol for ending a conversation.  
  
“Thanks,” Stiles replies, then buries his head under his pillow.  
  
\--  
  
“So is it just me, or has Derek always been a cockteasing asshole?” Stiles asks, by way of conversation starter.  
  
Danny, in the middle of bringing a sandwich to his mouth, blinks up at Stiles, then lowers his lunch.  
  
“Please, Stiles, sit down,” he says serenely. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you perhaps like some tea?  
  
Stiles ignores this. “Well?” he demands.  
  
Danny sighs. “Derek is complicated.”  
  
“No, complicated is something completely different. When you act like you like someone then shut them down every time they try and get close to you, that’s called being a douchebag.”  
  
“I told you not to do anything until after our event.”  
  
“I wasn’t!” Stiles cries. “I was being a perfect gentleman! Because for some messed up reason I actually want this to work and shit. Derek’s the one who’s being the king of mixed signals and showing up when I’m in a swimsuit and running away!”  
  
Danny scrubs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not going to rat on my teammate. But Derek is a bit messed up-”  
  
Stiles snorts. “Understatement of the century, man.”  
  
“My point is, he does like you. Just, don’t be so hard on him.”  
  
“Me?” Stiles says indignantly. “Hard on him? You’re joking.”  
  
“Just give it time, Stilinski,” Danny says, and picks up his sandwich in a clear dismissal.  
  
“Yeah, fine,” Stiles sighs. “What do you think about our chances in the soccer match?”  
  
\--  
  
Stiles is busy trying to beat his high score on Robot Unicorn Attack when there’s a knock at the door.  
  
He makes Scott get it, since it’s probably Allison anyway. She’s been getting bolder about sneaking away to see Scott ever since she made it through qualifying. Besides, archery finals are tomorrow and she probably wants to get a good luck kiss or something disgustingly cute like that.  
  
“Um, it’s for you,” Scott says, sounding uncomfortable.   
  
“If it’s Coach, tell him I already did my reps for the day. I even did ten extra laps because someone is pissing me off.” Stiles jabs the jump key a bit harder than he probably needs to and narrowly avoids a floating mountain.  
  
“Um,” Scott says helpfully.  
  
“Is it me you’re mad at?” Derek asks and Stiles’ unicorn crashes into a giant star with a fiery explosion.  
  
Stiles turns in his chair to see Derek looking unfairly attractive, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “How are you even wearing that? It’s like seventy degrees here.” He’s pretty sure that’s right. He still hasn’t quite mastered at celsius to fahrenheit conversion and so it’s pretty much a guess whenever he sees a weather report.  
  
Derek shrugs. “It’s rainy though.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Why are you here?”   
  
Over Derek’s shoulders, Stiles can see Scott sneaking out the door. He catches Stiles’ eyes for a split second and gives Stiles a hesitant thumbs up.  
  
“I thought you might be hungry,” Derek says “You usually are.”  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes. “Was that a slight at my manly physique?”   
  
To his surprise, Derek drops his gaze and his eyes go a little distant. Stiles is pretty sure that Derek is picturing the physique in question and the thought makes Stiles flush.   
  
“It was an invitation,” Derek replies.   
  
“Oh. Um, yes?” Stiles says hesitantly.   
  
Derek grins, looking pleased. “Good. Grab your wallet, I heard of a good place from one of the British track runners. She’s a local.”  
  
“Look at you, socialising and everything,” Stiles teases, pulling himself out of his chair. Apparently they aren’t going to talk about the other day. Which Stiles is pretty OK with.   
  
Derek mock sudders. “Don’t remind me.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Was it painful?”  
  
“Only a little.”  
  
Stiles nudges Derek on his way towards the door. “Don’t worry. It’s good for you.”  
  
“So you keep saying. I have yet to see any proof.”  
  
“Well, you heard of this restaurant, didn’t you?”   
  
“That only counts if it’s any good,” Derek replies, proceeding Stiles out the door.  
  
\--  
  
The restaurant is amazing. And that’s coming from Stiles, who’d been pretty picky about finding food that could compare to the deep fried perfection of his homeland.  
  
"So, was this worth socialising long enough to get the address?" Stiles asks jokingly.  
  
Derek makes a face at him. "Maybe a little."  
  
"I knew it! You're secretly a social butterfly. Deep in your soul, you crave human interaction. Admit it."  
  
"Don’t push it," Derek grumbles. Stiles laughs.  
  
"Well, at least admit that you like hanging out with me."  
  
Derek gives him a considering look. "You're not too bad."  
  
It's considerably more than Stiles had expected. He claps his hands over his heart in mock surprise. "Did Derek Hale just compliment me? I need to mark this on my calendar. Someone call the press." He says it quietly, because the people at neighboring tables have been shooting them looks all night and someone may actually call the press if they aren't careful.  
  
Derek rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "You're ridiculous."  
  
Stiles nods amicably. "I am," he agrees. "You love it, don't lie."  
  
Derek just shakes his head and goes back to his too-raw steak, but Stiles can tell he's grinning.  
  
\--  
  
It's not too late when they leave the restaurant, so Stiles cajoles Derek into a walk. It would be a crime if they spent over a month in a foreign country and never even wandered around the city.  
  
He gets Derek to talk about his team and in exchange Stiles talks about how he got into diving. It's not much of a story, but he enjoys telling it. Talking about how much his dad encouraged him turns into talking about his dad and how they couldn't afford to get him out here, but how proud he was. And how much Stiles wishes that he could have his family there cheering for him.  
  
"I come from a pretty big family," Derek admits. "I have two sisters, and that's not counting all the cousins that live with us."  
  
The very thought boggles Stiles’ mind, but apparently Derek's home contained three generations of Hales, and both of Derek's uncles and their families lived with them.  
  
"I can't even imagine Christmas," Stiles says.  
  
Derek laughs. "It's a handful."  
  
"Are they all clustered around a tv in New York, watching you?"  
  
"Probably. My sister is coming up for my event." He gives Stiles a slightly apologetic look, like he feels bad that his family can be here when Stiles' can't.  
  
"That's great!" Stiles replies.  
  
Derek smiles ruefully. "You haven't met Laura."  
  
"I'm sure I'll like her," Stiles says, then winces because that might be way into 'too much' territory.  
  
To his relief, Derek just chuckles. "That's what I'm worried about."  
  
Stiles doesn't know how to reply to that, so he turns out to the water to hide his smile. The Thames is spread out beneath them on the bridge where they've somehow ended up.  
  
Stiles moves closer to the stone wall and leans against it.  
  
"Can you believe we're in another country?" he asks.  
  
"It's a lot harder to feel that way than it was last time," Derek replies, joining him at the wall.   
  
"Well, yeah." Stiles glances down into the water. "It's nice here though. I like it."  
  
Derek follows his gaze down. "Don't try diving off," he cautions.  
  
Stiles grins, shooting him a sideways look. "I could probably make five, maybe six flips from here."  
  
"And then you would be in the Thames. And I would not be coming after you."  
  
Stiles makes a face at him. "Spoilsport."  
  
Derek stretches, grinning. "So they tell me."  
  
Stiles follows the long lines of Derek’s body, eyes fixing on the way that his dark shirt rides up to expose perfectly trim muscles.   
  
He yanks his gaze back up to Derek’s face, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. Instead of the amusement that Stiles had expected at being caught staring, Derek’s face is shuttered.  
  
“Um,” Stiles says, suddenly uncomfortable. Derek’s gaze slides away from him, out over the Thames and Stiles shifts on his feet. “So, uh, do you actually know how to get back from here?”  
  
Derek starts, then looks around like this is the first time he’s seen where they are. “Well,” he says hesitantly.   
  
Stiles bursts into laughter. “Well, at least we know the language.” He gives Derek a light punch on the arm. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home before your bedtime.”  
  
\--  
  
The worst part about diving as your sport of choice is the tragic lack of a training montage. Stiles would love to put on some Eye of the Tiger and do a hardcore workout. Except that most of his training takes place in the water, or in the nebulous space between platform and pool.  
  
Still, Stiles is finding sexaul frustration to be a great motivator, and he ends up doing almost twice his usual amount of laps.  
  
He’d just gotten back from watching Allison compete and was working off the subsequent frustration from watching how smoothly Scott’s romance was going, when Stiles himself was moving backwards.  
  
Allison had gotten the silver medal and everyone from the commentators on down had been making Argent/silver jokes all day. She took it with better grace than Stiles would have. He’d have whipped out that bow and shot someone by now if it were him.  
  
This time, when Stiles finally drags himself out of the pool, there’s no Derek waiting for him. Stiles isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or not, but he’ll probably come out of it less confused than last time.  
  
\--  
  
The next few days pass in kind of a blur. Stiles has lunch with Derek twice and tries not to flirt too aggressively because Derek shuts down everytime he does.   
  
He goes to cheer on Scott at another two events. Derek won’t join him, but now Allison does. Apparently, as a silver medalist, she can do what, or who she wants. It’s kind of terrible for Stiles because he’s already been sexiled twice. Both times he’s just gone down and done laps at the pool until he couldn’t feel his arms, then played video games with Danny.  
  
Neither of them discussed the giant, leather wearing elephant in the room and Stiles got his ass majorly whooped.   
  
Stiles and Allison cheer for Scott the entire event, and Stiles likes to think that they are personally responsible for getting him all the way to 4th place. There’s no medal, but it’s pretty damn good.   
  
Stiles is really happy that Scott doesn’t cry. The girl who’d gotten fourth in the gymnastics had been crying, and Stiles hadn’t been able to watch her.  
  
He tries not to think about his own event.   
  
That night, he’s not in the least surprised to come back to the room to see a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the door.  
  
Stiles is pretty sure that if he does any more laps, he will have water in his ears forever, so he cuts straight to Danny’s room. Which, of course, also has a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.  
  
Seriously, is everyone at the Olympic Village having sex except him?  
  
So, Stiles takes a deep breath, mans up and goes to knock on Derek’s door. Derek will not be having sex, Stiles is sure of that.  
  
Derek answers looking uncharacteristically hesitant.   
  
“Oh, good,” Stiles says, pushing his way past Derek. “You’re in.”  
  
“Stiles, this isn’t really a good time.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You’re just hiding from-” Stiles stops dead at the sight of a pretty brunette sitting on Derek’s bed. She raises her eyebrows at Stiles when he just stares at her.  
  
“Oh,” Stiles says. “I didn’t know you had company.” It’s stupid to feel betrayed, because it’s not like they actually made any promises, or even a sort of commitment. But Stiles had expectations and he’d kind of thought that the ‘nothing before my event’ thing was about Derek, not about Stiles.  
  
Except it’s apparently kind of flexible. “I should go,” he says, turning back towards the door.  
  
“No, stay!” the girl says. “You just got here.”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek says with a pained expression. “This is my sister Laura. Laura, this is Stiles Stilinski.”  
  
“Please tell me that’s not your real name,” she says with a smile.  
  
“Your sister!” Stiles says, a bit too loudly. “That’s cool. Very cool. Nice to meet you, Laura.” He goes to shake her hand, because his dad raised him right, but she bypasses that and pulls him into a hug. Apparently her parents had raised her weird. She looks at Derek over Stiles’ head. “He’s even cuter than you said!”  
  
Stiles flushes so bright she can probably feel it and steps back. He resolutely does not look at Derek, who sounds like he’s choking.  
  
“Laura, please,” Derek says faintly, then trails off, apparently at a loss for words.  
  
“Oh, I’m just kidding.”  
  
“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek asks.  
  
“I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang. My room is,” Stiles makes a face, “currently occupied. But, you’re clearly busy, so I’ll just go jump off of high things some more.”  
  
“You don’t have to leave,” Laura says. Stiles looks from her to Derek.  
  
“You don’t,” Derek confirms.   
  
“Well, alright,” Stiles replies, grinning. “If you insist.”  
  
\--  
  
Laura Hale might be the CEO of a major company, but it wasn’t because she was slacking at Mario Kart.   
  
Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been so soundly beaten in his life.  
  
\--  
  
The plus side to the stupid romance or whatever with Derek that is still going nowhere is that Stiles has kind of managed to forget that he’s, you know, competing in the Olympics.   
  
When he looks at his calendar and realizes that his event is tomorrow he almost hyperventilates. It’s not that he doesn’t think he can do it, because he knows that he’s actually a pretty good diver, but basically  his whole life has been building up to tomorrow.  
  
Why hadn’t he prepared more? Why hadn’t he spent more time practicing and less time chasing after Derek Hale? Why the hell had he been wasting the past month in London?  
  
His dad had given everything to get him here, with over 60% of his dad’s paychecks going to pay for training and travel to different meets, and Stiles was blowing it by chasing after someone who still hadn’t given Stiles any solid indication that he was even interested.  
  
He goes down to the pool, hoping that the water will calm his thoughts, but almost all of the other divers are there.   
  
He ends up just pacing circles around his room until there’s a knock on the door.  
  
Stiles is really, seriously surprised to see Derek standing there.  
  
“What’s up?”   
  
“I thought you might be freaking out,” Derek replies, shouldering his way inside.  
  
“Freaking out is such a strong way to put it.”  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And you’re, what, perfectly calm?”   
  
“I could be!” Stiles protests. Derek gives him a flat look.  “OK, maybe there’s a little freaking.”  
  
Derek stays for almost three hours, playing cards with him and talking about stupid stuff.  
  
At eight o’clock, Derek gets to his feet. “You should get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “I forgot about your old man bedtime.”  
  
“Seriously, Stiles. It’s not a good day to be tired.”  
  
“Yes, Mother,” Stiles quips. He gets up to see Derek to the door. He has to bite his lip against the urge to ask Derek to come watch him tomorrow. He doesn’t want to hear him say no.  
  
Derek hesitates at the door, then leans forward abruptly and presses his lips against Stiles’. Stiles, caught unaware and absolutely not expecting that, doesn’t have time to kiss back before Derek is pulling away. Stiles’ hands curl into the empty space where Derek’s hips used to be.  
  
“For luck,” Derek says, then turns on his heel and leaves.   
  
“Oh, yeah, like I’m going to sleep after that!” Stiles yells after him.   
  
\--  
  
Stiles is only freaking out a little when the event starts. He’s fifth on the list for the qualifying round, which is plenty of time for him to freak out about how much he could mess this up.  
  
As per his coach’s instructions, Stiles doesn’t watch any of the other competitors. Instead, he puts his head down and breathes. In, out. In, out. The crowd roars and groans behind him.   
  
And then he’s up. Stiles does a couple of quick stretches and approaches the board.  
  
He does a reflexive sweep over the audience, and spares a moment to wave back at the frantically waving Scott and Allison. He’s about to step up to the board when he catches sight of a shock of dark hair.  
  
Derek Hale is sitting in the audience, watching Stiles like he hadn’t said he never watched other people’s performances.   
  
Stiles knows he’s staring, and when he meets Derek’s eyes, Derek’s lips quirk into a small smile. The bastard even gives a little wave, which Stiles is almost too shocked to return.  
  
Stiles goes up to the board feeling like he’s floating on something. He wouldn’t have been upset when he didn’t see Derek, it had been what he expected. But somehow, the fact that Derek came anyway is huge.  
  
Stiles bounces on the board, once, twice.   
  
Then, he flies.  
  
\--  
  
Scott and Allison want to take him out to the bar, but Stiles refuses. He got through qualifying, but with semi-finals tomorrow, there is absolutely no way that he’s going to risk a hangover.  
  
They end up just going back to the room and hanging out. Allison pulls a deck of cards from somewhere and proceeds to clean all of them out in poker.  
  
Stiles tries to pretend that he’s not upset that Derek didn’t come by.  
  
\--  
  
The next day is even worse because oh my god, he’s here at the Olympics. He’s been training for this basically his entire life and it would be just so easy to mess this up.  
  
There are only two people ahead of him this time, which at least means significantly less time to freak himself out.   
  
He only had two more dives left, two more times to prove to the judges and the entire world that he’s good, that he deserves to be here. And sure, it’s been awhile since he messed up in rehearsal, but that just means he’s overdue.   
  
He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up into the face of his coach. Stiles gives him a weak smile and gets an answering smile in return.   
  
Stiles glances up at the stands again as he makes his way over to the board and is surprised to see Derek sitting in the same place he was yesterday. Stiles is too nervous to manage a grin, but he forces out a weak little wave, and another one of Scott and Allison.  
  
As he reaches the end of the board, he thinks  ‘ _this one is for my dad.’_   
  
One, two, jump.   
  
The shock of hitting the water clears his head, washes away all the nerves and doubts. He stays under longer than he needs to on his way to the edge and surfaces to a roar of noise.  
  
\--  
  
By the time the semi-finals are over, Stiles is in third place and he has just enough time to grab a small lunch before getting back for the finals.   
  
Some of the other athletes complain about the finals and the semifinals being on the same day, but Stiles likes it. He can only handle two nights of staring at the ceiling, freaking out about all the things that could go wrong.  
  
Scott and Allison meet him at the door to the Aquatic Centre and Stiles can see Derek lurking a little further off. Stiles grins at Scott and Allison, then waves Derek over because he’s not taking any of the creeper shit today. Today is his day, and he’s going to seize it in every possible way.  
  
“You did pretty good out there,” Derek says, hands shoved in his pockets like a typical cool kid. Stiles rolls his eyes affectionately.   
  
“Are you kidding?” Scott says. “That was amazing!”  
  
“Four flips, just, in the air like that!” Allison adds. “Definitely the coolest.”  
  
Stiles ducks his head. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“It’s not nothing,” Derek says firmly. “I heard the announcers. That’s one of the hardest dives to pull off, isn’t it?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “Only by a little. And it’s really easy to mess up.”  
  
“But you didn’t!” Scott says, punching Stiles in the shoulder enthusiastically.  
  
Stiles waves him off. “Yeah, not yet. Come on, this isn’t that long a break.”  
  
\--  
  
Derek catches his arm on the way back into the Centre and pulls him aside. Stiles waves Scott and Allison on ahead of them, then stares up at him.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“You really were great out there,” Derek says intently.  
  
Stiles shuffles on his feet. “I’m just doing my best. Like everyone else here.”  
  
Derek grunts, apparently having exhausted his supply of nice things to say. Then, he tugs Stiles even closer and kisses him.  
  
Stiles is slightly more prepared for it this time and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss before Derek can pull back. He winds his arms around Derek’s neck to keep him in place and lets the kiss sweep over him.  
  
Derek pulls back way before Stiles is ready for him to and give Stiles a little push.  
  
“What is wrong with you?” Stiles demands, voice hoarse. “Are you actually crazy?”  
  
“Go dive,” Derek replies, and Stiles shivers at the way Derek’s voice has gone dark and intense. “Then we’ll talk.”  
  
\--  
  
Stiles is still a bit dazed when he walks back to his spot along the wall, but the sound of the crowd and the sound of the first diver hitting the water flushes it from his system pretty quickly.  
  
Still, his nerves aren’t rattling quite as badly this time, and when he gets up to make his dive, he feels calmer.  
  
Go dive. He can do that. Diving has always made sense to him, always been a constant in his life. This new and bigger setting isn’t going to take that away from him.  
  
He doesn’t look into the crowd this time, but he knows that his friends are out there, cheering for him. Just like he knows that somewhere, across an ocean and many hours of time difference, his dad is watching him, rooting for him. Just like he always has been.  
  
The board feels solid beneath his feet, the reassuring spring in it that’s so familiar.   
  
Bounce once, twice. Go, dive.  
  
This is one of his favorite dives, from even before he could do it properly. He loves the combination of the flip and the twist, loves pulling from a tuck into a pike, loves the way he spins through the air and enters the water just right. Hands, then head, shoulders, feet. All one smooth line and it just feels right.  
  
Nailed it. He knew, as soon as he hit the water that he had done one of the better dives of his entire life and the thought of it rushes through his blood and makes him lightheaded.   
  
He pulls himself out of the water, for once not even a little self-conscious about his stupidly tiny swimsuit, because he totally nailed that dive.   
  
The crowd is cheering, and Stiles can’t resist a wave. He hasn’t won yet, there are at least six more divers left, but when he leaves, he can do it knowing he put everything he had into it. He can leave proud.   
  
\--  
  
Stepping up to the podium feels surreal. There are flashes going off in his face and there’s so much noise around him that Stiles isn’t sure if anyone is actually trying to talk to him, but he’s smiling so hard his face hurts.  
  
Stiles Stilinski; Olympic Gold Medalist.   
  
Holy shit.   
  
Of course, that was what he was here for, but he hadn’t really thought that it would actually happen. It wasn’t that he doubted his own abilities, because he was an awesome diver and he knew it. But he hadn’t really added all of that up to Olympic Gold Medal and he still can’t get over it.  
  
Someone is putting the medal over his head and it’s heavier than it always looked on tv. He feels like he should be wearing a suit, or at least a tie, instead of a pair of sweats and a USA jacket over his swimsuit, with his hair still wet.  
  
He shakes the woman’s hand and then hugs her on impulse. He won a gold medal, he’s pretty sure he’s allowed to do that now. Then he hugs the silver and bronze medalists, too, because he’s giddy with it, and really he probably wasn’t actually better than them. It was just three dives, just three jumps to showcase over fifteen years of training, and somehow that ended with him on a podium, waving out at a screaming crowd.  
  
\--  
  
By the times Stiles makes it back to Olympic Village he has almost twenty missed phone calls, and only ten of them are from his dad. He has to press ignore on another three because now everyone he’s ever known is trying to get a hold of him and he just wants to talk to his father.  
  
He and his dad talk for almost thirty minutes, and most of it is his dad yelling about how he knew Stiles could do it and how proud he is. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been happier in his entire life.  
  
When he gets off the phone he dresses into some bar appropriate clothing and heads down to meet up with Scott and Allison.  
  
He ends up drinking more than he probably should because every time he finishes a drink someone is pressing a new one into his hand.   
  
Allison and Scott help him back to his room, but Stiles waves them off when they offer to stay.  
  
He’s halfway into his pajamas when someone knocks on the door. He’s pretty sure that over a million people have seen him in what amounts to a bikini, so he doesn’t feel too bad about answering the door in just his pajama pants.   
  
He regrets that when he sees Derek on the other side of the door.   
  
“Stiles,” Derek starts, then stops, staring.   
  
Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, self-conscious in the way he only gets around Derek. When Derek continues to stare, Stiles says, “Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me? You are in the presence of greatness now, my friend. I won a gold medal in case you didn’t notice.”  
  
Derek growls low in his throat and pushes through the door, pushing Stiles back as he goes and kicking the door closed behind them. He manhandles Stiles directly into the wall, pressing deep into his space.  
  
“I noticed,” he growls. “You in your fucking swimsuit.” He drops his hands to Stiles’ hips, fingers digging in above the bones.   
  
“Derek,” Stiles chokes out, feeling hot all over.  
  
“Shut up,” Derek replies, then doesn’t give him a chance to do otherwise. He covers Stiles’ mouth with his own, kissing him like he can’t get enough.  
  
Stiles opens his mouth with a groan because seriously, he’s been waiting  weeks . Derek pushes impossibly closer, pressing against him from knees to chest, and if Stiles had any doubts that Derek was as into this as Stiles was, they’re gone now.  
  
Derek pulls back. “God, I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off of you, you were hardly wearing  _anything_ .”  
  
Stiles groans at the heat in Derek’s voice and pulls him back into a deeper kiss. He wouldn’t have guessed that, between the two of them, Derek would be the talker during sex.  
  
Derek’s hands slide around to Stiles’ back--one stroking up and down his spine, the other falling to rest on his ass--and pull him closer to Derek.  
  
Stiles scrambles at Derek’s shirt, wanting to get his hands on skin, wanting more, more,  _more_ . “Come on,” he mutters into the kiss. “Off, off.”  
  
Derek breaks away long enough for the two of them to get his shirt off and then he’s back, trailing kissing from Stiles’ mouth down his neck.  
  
Stiles’ head thumps against the wall as he bares his throat. His fingers skid across skin as he runs them over Derek’s back. He clenches one fist into Derek’s hair and pulls him closer.   
  
Derek gives a little growl of approval and bites down lightly at the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder.   
  
“Oh my god, you’re an animal,” Stiles gets out, though it sounds more breathy than he intended. He pushes lightly at Derek’s shoulder. “Come on, bed. There’s a bed, right behind you.”  
  
Derek ignores him, pushing back in and kissing Stiles again. Derek’s fingers inch below the waistband of Stiles’ pajama pants, and OK, Stiles can get behind this. Stiles can live without a bed.  
  
He lets Derek press him against the wall, bearing most of his weight and runs his hands over Derek’s chest. The noise Derek makes when Stiles’ fingers trace over his nipples makes Stiles’ blood thrum in his veins and he fights a smile. Derek feels it anyway and he bites lightly at Stiles’ lips in retaliation.   
  
Stiles squirms against him because Derek’s hand is just sitting on his hip, burning hot under his pajama pants but not where he wants it. “Come on,” he groans.   
  
He can feel Derek’s grin against his lips, and that is just not OK, Stiles is not tolerating that. He drops both hands down to Derek’s ass and pulls him closer.  
  
Derek groans, fingers clenching over Stiles’ hip.   
  
“Derek,” Stiles gasps. “Do something,”  
  
“You want me to do something?” Derek growls, and rocks his hips against Stiles’.  
  
Stiles whimpers, head falling forward onto Derek’s shoulder.  
  
The door opens to their side. “Hey, Stiles. Allison and I--oh my god!”   
  
Derek rips himself back, bare chest heaving with breaths and his pants were doing nothing to hide how hard he was.  
  
Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t look any better. He feels flushed and he can pretty much guarantee that the thin flannel of his own pajamas is hiding nothing.  
  
“I am so sorry,” Scott is saying.  
  
Stiles turns his head to glare at him. “Just  leave , dude.”  
  
Scott, apparently, considers stammering out apologies to be a bigger priority than just getting out of the room. Derek apparently has no such issue. He barely stops to pick up his shirt before he’s out the door, pushing past Scott and Allison and disappearing down the hallway.  
  
Stiles pushes himself off the wall and glowers at Scott.  
  
“I swear to god, Scott, I am going to kill you.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently every chapter is going to end with Stiles being left hanging.
> 
> \--
> 
> Also, the dives that Stiles used are the actual dives that Ilya Zakharov of Russia performed this year when he won the gold medal.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles feels entirely justified in having a nice long sulk the next day. Well, a little justified. Well, OK, everytime he starts to get really upset about the fact that Derek is a cockteasing asshole, he reminds himself that at least he has a gold medal. It makes him feel better.   
  
He’s seen Jackson wearing his medal around the Village like jewelry, and it’s only the knowledge of how much of a douchebag it had made him look that prevents Stiles from doing the same.    
  
Still, he can’t stop putting it on and looking in the mirror four or five times that day. He probably would have done it more, except that Scott had been around for most of the day.   
  
Scott and Allison drag him out of the room in the afternoon, because Scott still feels terrible about being almost as bad a cockblock as Derek himself, and because now they’ve all finished their events and it’s, apparently, time to party.   
  
Stiles is OK with it, partly because he still doesn’t have to buy any of his own drinks. It’s a principle he can get behind pretty quickly.   
  
The bar is outside the Village, so it’s about half and half athletes and fans. Anyone who didn’t fit into those categories had probably cleared out after their first drink, no doubt heading for a pub further away from the Village.   
  
Stiles actually has to fight off a couple of offers, from men and women alike. Apparently, nothing is sexier than a gold medal. He turns them all down and realizes with horror that he is just gone on Derek, which is unfair on so many levels.   
  
A pretty blonde girl makes it all the way to his corner and sits on Stiles’ lap without pause.   
  
“Um?” Stiles says, taken aback He looks up at Scott for help. Scott is busy making out with Allison. Typical. As soon as he gets back to California, Stiles is getting a new best friend.   
  
“Je m'appelle Audrey,” she says cheerfully. Stiles knows zero french, so he has no idea how to say ‘thanks but no thanks,’ and pushing her off seems kind of rude.   
  
“Je m’appelle Stiles,” he replies for politeness’ sake, trying to nudge her off of his lap without being too obvious about it.   
  
She giggles and says something that he has no chance of guessing from context. He looks around hopelessly, trying to see if she’d brought a handler, or at least a friend.   
  
He meets dark eyes across the room instead, and he recognizes Derek’s intent gaze.   
  
Stiles has a moment to be surprised that Derek had left the Village of his own free will before Derek is turning around and leaving. Which is about when it occurs to Stiles that he has a pretty girl on his lap less than 24 hours after Derek kissed him.   
  
Stiles stands up fast enough that Audrey goes sprawling on the ground. He doesn’t bother to help her up, too busy trying to navigate through the crowd. Drunk people are seriously ridiculous, it’s like trying to part the freaking Red Sea. Derek is already at the end of the block when Stiles forces his way out.   
  
Stiles breaks into a run, desperately hoping that Derek won’t start running too. He’s in the Olympics for it, Stiles won’t stand a chance.    
  
Derek doesn’t start running, doesn’t even look back, though Stiles is sure that Derek can hear him.   
  
Stiles catches up to him at the end of the block, putting a restraining hand onto Derek’s shoulder and turning Derek to face him.   
  
“What are you doing out of your man-cave?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.   
  
Derek hunches into his jacket a bit. “I was looking for you.”   
  
“Looking for--are you kidding me?” Stiles demands.   
  
Derek frowns and turns back to the road. “I can see you’re busy though.”   
  
“Derek, what the hell!” Stiles shouts. “Are you actually trying to kill me? You are like the king of mixed signals. You like me, you don’t like me. You kiss me and then run away--twice, I might add. Then you get mad when some girl practically attacks me in a bar. You’re giving me whiplash here.”   
  
“You can do what you want,” Derek says shortly. “She’s probably still in there.”   
  
Stiles scrubs both of his hands over his head in frustration. “That wasn’t even close to the point I was trying to make! Are you actually insane?”   
  
Derek just turns and keeps walking back to the Village. Stiles rolls his eyes and falls into step beside him. “Look,” he says, “can we just talk about this? Because you have not only been cockblocking me, you have been cockblocking yourself. Who even does that?”   
  
Derek shrugs. “I told you before, it’s not about you.”   
  
“Look, I am now very interested in this situation, so if you could just give me a brief summary, that’d be fine.” He pauses. “And by situation, I mean you.”   
  
Derek gives a little laugh. “How about you just trust me. I’m not doing anything before my event, but that’s only another two more days to wait.” He ducks his head. “If you don’t want to to wait that long, I get it.”   
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, were you dropped on your head as a baby? I’ve been waiting for you for over a month now. A couple more nights won’t kill me.”    
  
They show their IDs to the guards at the entrance to the Village and move through.    
  
Derek flashes him a grin, slow and bright. Stiles mentally revises his last statement, because if Derek continues to be this goddamn sexy, it might kill him after all.    
  
They walk back to Derek’s building in silence. It feels quiet and intimate, and Stiles is pretty sure this is becoming more than a casual fuck. And, if he’s honest, he wants that. Which is a terrible idea, because Derek is from New York, and Stiles is literally across the continent from him.   
  
Derek stops at his door, and Stiles feels like he’s trapped in a cliche teen movie, dropping the girl off at her house. Though, to be fair, Derek would probably punch him just for thinking it.   
  
Stiles moves in, crowds Derek against the door when Derek takes a step back.   
  
“Relax,” Stiles breathes, and presses his lips to Derek’s. He keeps it slow and gentle because he doesn’t want Derek to run, not this time.   
  
Derek’s the one who deepens it, opening his mouth and letting Stiles slide his tongue inside. He licks over Derek’s teeth until Derek groans into his mouth.   
  
Stiles pulls back and grins at him. He darts in, quick, just a closed mouth peck of his lips against Derek’s this time.    
  
“For luck,” he says, and turns to leave.   
  
He doesn’t look back.   
  
\--   
  
“Laura! Over here!” Stiles waves at Derek’s sister from the stands. He’d really like to pretend that he got here early because he didn’t have anything better to do, but the truth is that he’d wanted to make sure that he would get a good spot to watch Derek race.   
  
It’s only the qualifying, but Stiles is vibrating with tension. He’s almost as nervous now as he had been before his own event.    
  
“So, what kind of name is Stiles, anyway?” Laura asks, grinning.   
  
“Seriously?” Stiles laughs. “That’s what you have to say?”   
  
“Well, it’s that or ask you if my baby brother has put out yet. Take your pick.”   
  
“Oh my god,” Stiles replies. “Does insanity run in your family?”   
  
Laura grins. “You better hope you never meet my uncle Peter.”   
  
\--   
  
Team USA ends up getting first in the qualifying, but Derek, being an old man at heart, refuses to go out with them to celebrate.    
  
Boyd and Danny do go out with them, but Isaac apparently agrees with Derek and decides to rest before the finals the next day.   
  
\--   
  
Stiles is pretty sure that his voice is hoarse from cheering, from yelling every time team USA falls behind, and every time they manage to pull ahead. He’s glad that this is the kind of sport that one can cheer for, loudly and whole-heartedly. The spectators of diving are all  ooh and  ahhhs and respectful silences when your dive doesn’t warrent those.   
  
Derek was the team’s last runner, Isaac the first. For such a skinny thing, Isaac sure is fast, breaking to the front of the line like it’s nothing. By the times the baton gets to Danny, and then to Boyd, Stiles is on his feet, hollering. When he sees the baton pass to Derek, he practically starts jumping up and down. Jamaica pulls ahead in the middle of Isaac’s run, but when the baton gets to Derek, he shoots off like a bullet.   
  
Stiles cheers, whooping loudly when Derek pulls ahead of Jamaica and crosses the finish line first.   
  
Stiles jumps up and punches the air because silver is still fucking great and it’s not like anyone ever beats Jamaica in running anyway.   
  
“That was amazing!” Stiles exclaims when they reach Derek’s side. He’s still breathing heavily, but he’s grinning from ear to ear, looking happier than Stiles has ever seen him.   
  
“Congrats, bro!” Laura says, hugging him tight. Stiles wishes that he could do the same.   
  
Laura catches his eye over Derek’s shoulders and seems to read something in his face. She releases Derek and gives him a little shove in Stiles’ direction.    
  
Stiles grins and opens his arms wordlessly. He’s surprised when Derek steps into him, wrapping strong arms around Stiles.   
  
“So, you ready to celebrate?” Stiles asks. “I hear there’s this bar around here that’s very friendly to gold medalists.”   
  
Derek shakes his head. “No thanks.” Stiles face falls, he can just tell. Derek grins at him. “I have a better idea.”   
  
\--   
  
Stiles is kissing Derek before they’re all the way through the door.   
  
Derek grins into the kiss and pushes Stiles up against the wall, kicking the door closed behind them.   
  
“Impatient, Stilinski?”   
  
“We could have had this weeks ago!” Stiles replies, the words muffled in the kiss.   
  
"I told you that I didn't want to be distracted," Derek growls. He doesn't give Stiles a chance to answer, just takes his mouth in a fierce kiss. Stiles hardly has time to reciprocate before Derek is pulling back again. "And you are so fucking distracting."   
  
"And what about you, Mr. Tall, dark and grumpy?" Stiles asks, straining against Derek's hold to get closer. "You are the biggest cocktease on the planet, I swear to god."   
  
"You think it was easy?" Derek asks, bypassing Stiles' mouth completely and rubbing his stubble against Stiles' neck before worrying it with his teeth.   
  
Stiles arches into the contact, hands grasping at Derek's shirt. "I'll show you easy," he mutters. He shoves off the wall with his hips and uses his shoulders to push back against Derek.   
  
Surprised, Derek goes with the motion, ending up with Stiles pressing him to the wall. Stiles rolls his hips against Derek’s, making both of them moan, then kisses his way down Derek's neck. He pauses long enough to yank Derek's shirt over his head, then licks and bites his way across the broad planes of Derek's chest.   
  
Derek hisses and arches up when Stiles reaches his nipples and Stiles grins. "Sensitive?" he asks and he gently scrapes his teeth over one.    
  
"Shut up, Stilinski," Derek replies, voice gravelly in a way that makes Stiles shiver.   
  
"Such a romantic," Stiles replies, but he mouths his way to Derek's other nipple, biting down and sucking hard.    
  
Derek thrusts against him and Stiles drops his hands to Derek's hips, holding him still. When Derek settles again, Stiles slides one hand around to the button of his jeans, flicking it open.    
  
Derek groans when Stiles gets his hand inside, wrapping it around his cock. Derek throws his head back when Stiles grips him tight and tugs. Stiles can’t resist such a tempting picture and he raises his head enough to suck on Derek's neck.    
  
Derek's stubble prickles against his lips, new and exciting. He bites down to see what Derek will do, and Derek make a noise like this is killing him.   
  
"You know, diving isn't my only skill," Stiles says, grinning wickedly.    
  
"What?" Derek asks blurrily, lifting his head off the wall and giving Stiles a disconnected and heated stare. Stiles shivers as that look burns through him.   
  
He pulls his hands out of Derek's briefs. Derek makes a low noise at the loss, and Stiles smiles at him. "I also know how to hold my breath for almost three minutes," he says, and slowly sinks to his knees.   
  
Derek's hand immediately goes to his shoulder, the other resting lightly on Stiles' head.   
  
"Do those lines actually work for you?" he asks incredulously, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.   
  
Stiles looks up at him and grins. "I've got you here, don't I?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls Derek's pants down his hips. Derek's cock presses obscenely against his black briefs and Stiles licks his lips.   
  
"Just get on with it," Derek says, grip tightening on Stiles’ shoulder. He doesn't, however, do anything to push or pull Stiles closer, which is a big point in his favor.   
  
"I thought you were all about patience?" Stiles asks, pressing close enough that his lips brush against Derek's cock when he speaks.   
  
Derek groans, head thunking back. "Stiles, I swear to god."   
  
Stiles wants to play with him some more, give Derek a small taste of what Stiles has been dealing with over the past few weeks, but the truth is that he wants this as bad as Derek does. He tugs Derek's briefs down, carefully lifting the fabric over his erection.   
  
Stiles leans back a little just to look at him, enjoying the view. Derek was one long, lean line against the wall, flushed and panting and finally, finally for Stiles.    
  
"Stiles," Derek growls impatiently.    
  
"Oh, alright," Stiles replies, like it's a hardship. He licks his lips again before he wraps them around the head and sucks.   
  
Derek's hips jerk forward, thrusting into Stiles' mouth, and Stiles chokes a little. He pushes Derek back and pins his hips to the walls.   
  
"Stay," he says, before he sucks Derek down again. Derek groans, but doesn't thrust again, and Stiles settles in and lets himself enjoy this.   
  
He licks up and down the shaft and sucks carefully, using his hand to touch what he can't reach with his mouth.   
  
The noises that Derek is making are driving Stiles crazy, until he's almost dizzy with his own want. He looks up as he sucks, meeting Derek's eyes as Derek stares down at him.   
  
Derek makes a gasping, desperate noise and his hips jerk again. Stiles rides it out, pulling back just enough that he doesn't choke this time. He doesn't break eye contact, just continues to lick and suck Derek while staring up at him. The look in Derek's eyes makes him feel like he's burning from the inside out, like he might catch fire if he gets any hotter.    
  
Stiles fumbles at the clasp on his own jeans, trying to at least get some relief. He groans around Derek's cock, and Derek jerks again.   
  
"Stiles," he gasps out. Stiles moans again and presses in closer, sucks Derek in deeper. "Stiles, stop." The hand on Stiles' shoulder tightens, then carefully pushes him away.   
  
Stiles pulls free with a faint pop, glaring up at Derek reproachfully. "What?"    
  
"Bed," Derek growls. OK, yeah, Stiles can get behind that. So to speak.   
  
Derek grabs Stiles around the hips when Stiles stands, and pulls him into a kiss, tugging at Stiles’ jeans like they’ve personally offended him.    
  
The kiss is raw and filthy, with just the right amount of desperate. Stiles fists one hand in Derek’s hair and starts walking back to the bed. Derek stumbles along with him, still yanking at Stiles’ clothes.   
  
Stiles almost trips and falls when his pants end up around his knees, and he has to stop to kick them off. Derek’s hands land on his ass, and Stiles moans into the kiss, thrusting against Derek desperately.    
  
They both fall when the back of Stiles’ knees hit the bed, and Derek uses the opportunity to strip Stiles’ shirt off.    
  
Stiles opens his legs instinctively, letting Derek settle between them. They thrust against each other for a few fantastic moments, before Stiles pushes him off.    
  
“Seriously, we are going to actually do this thing, I want your dick in my ass sometime tonight or I will kill someone.”   
  
Derek drops his head onto Stiles shoulder and groans. “Jesus, Stiles, your fucking mouth.”   
  
“Did you miss the part where I said I will kill you? Because that is not a joke.”   
  
Derek rolls his eyes and shifts off of Stiles. “We’ll get there, Stiles. No need to resort to murder.”   
  
Stiles grins and presses a quick kiss against Derek’s lips. “Well hurry it up, runner boy, I’m not getting any younger here.”   
  
Derek stands, and Stiles lays back to enjoy the view. “I have no idea why I’m sleeping with you,” Derek says in exasperation.   
  
“Well, you’re not yet, so get on that. I have stuff in my jeans, I can just-” He moves to get up, but Derek pushes him back.   
  
“I have stuff, don’t worry.”   
  
Stiles falters, surprised. “You, you do?”   
  
Derek frowns at him. “Well, yes. I kind of assumed that sex was going to be the end result of tonight.”   
  
“One of many,” Stiles leers. Then it falters. “I just kind of assumed-”   
  
“You came prepared, didn’t you?” Derek cuts him off. His back is to Stiles as he rummages through his drawers for, Stiles can only assume, his supplies.    
  
“Well, of course, but I’ve been wanting you for over a month now.”   
  
Derek turns back to him, lube and condoms in hand. “Whatever you may think, Stiles, lack of interest was not the issue.”   
  
Stiles flushes and ducks his head to try and hide it.    
  
Derek makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat and kneels on the bed. He grips Stiles firmly by both ankles and tugs. Stiles squawks as he slides forward, ending up sprawled on his back beneath Derek.   
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” Derek growls, and ducks his head to kiss Stiles until he’s dizzy with it.   
  
“Yeah, OK,” Stiles replies. “No idiocy here. Can we make with the sex now?”   
  
Derek huffs exasperatedly into Stiles’ mouth. “Sure. Roll over.”   
  
Stiles think it over. “No.”   
  
“No?” Derek repeats.   
  
“No. I want to see your face. I’m not fucking some guy, Derek, I’m fucking you.”   
  
Derek kisses him again, and Stiles can feel a pleased smile against his lips. “If you’re sure,” Derek says.   
  
“Come on, we’re Olympic athletes here. I think we can manage sex.”   
  
Derek laughs a little, and Stiles can hear the cap on the lube popping off. He lifts himself onto his elbows to watch as Derek lubes up his hand.   
  
“Ready?” Derek asks, fingers paused just in front of Stiles’ hole.   
  
“Oh my god, Derek. I have been ready for the past month, just do it already.”   
  
Derek makes a low noise in his throat and presses one finger into Stiles without any more hesitation. Stiles groans, because it’s been a couple years since he did this. Olympic training doesn’t leave much time for a social life.   
  
Derek slowly works in a second finger, scissoring them and watching Stiles for any signs of pain. Stiles squirms under him, gasping. Derek pushes deeper, and Stiles arches off the bed with a shout.    
  
“Do that again,” he demands and Derek obliges, pressing harder. Stiles tosses his head back, moaning. “More,” he pants out. “Please.”   
  
Derek works in three fingers, then four, making sure to hit that spot that makes Stiles writhe beneath him.   
  
“Come on,” Stiles pants, pushing at Derek’s shoulder. “I’m ready, let’s go already.”   
  
Derek doesn’t argue, fumbling with the condom and almost dropping it. His lube-slicked fingers slide on the plastic wrapping    
  
“Here, let me,” Stiles says, pushing himself up and taking the condom from him. He has to rip it open with his teeth, but he finally gets it free and he carefully rolls it onto Derek.   
  
Then he flops back down onto the bed, grinning broadly. “Come on Derek, my body is ready.”   
  
Derek laughs, white teeth flashing against his dark stubble and Stiles takes a moment to marvel about the fact that he is here, in bed with Derek Hale, at the Olympics. How did he even get this lucky?   
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says affectionately.   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says , pushing off the bed and thrusting his cock against Derek’s hip. “Come on!”   
  
Derek smiles down at him, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips. His hands grip at Stiles’ thighs, tugging them lightly apart.    
  
Stiles shifts to wrap his legs around Derek as Derek thrust into him with one smooth thrust.   
  
They both groan, Stiles throwing his head back into the pillow. Derek is burning hot inside him, and he feels so full, so fantastic. Totally worth the wait.   
  
Derek pulls back and pushes in again, setting up a steady rhythm that is going to drive Stiles out of his mind.    
  
“Faster,” Stiles pants out. “Please, Derek.”   
  
“I thought patience was a virtue?” Derek replies, his voice is wrecked, words coming out as a rasp, but he keeps up the steady rhythm.    
  
“Please!” Stiles keens when Derek hits that spot that makes sparks fly behind his eyes.    
  
Derek gives two short, fast thrusts with his hips that makes Stiles cry out, but then settles back into the same steady rhythm.   
  
“You’re a bad person,” Stiles moans, twisting up to meet him.   
  
“I think I’ll live,” Derek gasps, and Stiles can tell that this pace is taking it’s toll on Derek as well.   
  
He pushes himself up onto his elbows to kiss Derek, biting his lips and pushing his tongue into Derek’s mouth at the same pace that Derek thrusts into him.   
  
When his arms buckle under a strong thrust and Derek follows him down so that they don’t break the kiss.   
  
The new position presses their bodies together, so that Stiles’ erection is pressed between them. He squirms just to feel it against Derek’s hard stomach and moans into the kiss.   
  
Waves of pleasure are crashing over him, Derek’s cock sending shocks through his whole body, the kiss making him dizzy. Stiles shakes with the need to come.   
  
He works a hand down between their bodies to wrap around his own cock, but Derek bats it away. “No,” he growls. “That’s for me.”   
  
And apparently possessive is a thing that really works for Stiles. He whimpers and lets his hand fall to the side.    
  
“Please, Derek.”   
  
Derek finally speeds up, pounding into with deep, body rocking thrusts that have Stiles shaking. He wraps one large hand around Stiles’ cock and begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts.   
  
Derek combines a particularly strong thrust against Stiles’ prostrate with a twist of his wrist and Stiles arches his back and comes with a shout.   
  
He rides out the thrills of pleasure running through him with minute shifts of his hips, whimpering as Derek doesn’t let up.   
  
Stiles weakly pushes his hips into Derek’s thrusts, trying to help him along until Derek cries out and slumps against him.   
  
Stiles pants weakly as Derek rolls off of him and carefully takes care of the condom.   
  
“I think we both get gold medals for that,” Stiles says.   
  
Derek snorts. “I’d put money on that having been said over a hundred times this month.”   
  
“Oh, at least,” Stiles agrees, shifting so that he’s curled into Derek’s side, one arm flung over Derek’s broad chest.    
  
\--   
  
Derek looks spectacularly grumpy as he crosses and uncrosses his arms over his chest.   
  
“Oh come on, I think you look great in white,” Stiles laughs.    
  
“This shirt doesn’t fit,” Derek grumbles.    
  
Stiles rakes his eyes over Derek’s chest. “Hey, no complaints from me, big guy. But your hat is a little crooked.” He reaches out and straightens Derek’s white hat before Derek bats his hands away.   
  
“Are you worried it’s going to mess up your hair?” Stiles smirks, straightening his own white cap.   
  
Derek just scowls at him.    
  
“Oh, you are!” Stiles grins. “Don’t worry, you look great no matter what.”   
  
“You two are gross,” Scott remarks from Stiles’ other side.    
  
Stiles just gives him a flat look, looking pointedly at the way Scott has his arm wrapped around Allison’s waist.    
  
“Oh, hey, I think we’re moving now,” Allison says, and sure enough the crowd is surging around them.    
  
Stiles reaches out and straightens Derek’s gold medal to the center of his chest and tries not to grin too hard when Derek does the same for him.   
  
“Come on, smile for the camera,” Stiles says, just like he had at the opening ceremony. And this time, Derek’s smile is completely genuine, and when he holds up his gold medal to show the camera, his other hand is clasped in Stiles’.   
  
\--   
  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, my endless thanks to my beta Scarlettblush, because when I said "I've written 10,000 words of an Olympic AU and I'm not done yet," she didn't run in the opposite direction.


End file.
